


Panta Rhei

by nmjoom



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Angst, Gen, Introspection, Metaphysical Rambling, Ryoji and Mina "talk" for the entire fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-04-28 19:28:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5102951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nmjoom/pseuds/nmjoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was the Appriser and now she, the Great Seal. As always, nothing is ever permanent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panta Rhei

**Author's Note:**

> Ryoji will get very meta because how can I not if I'm already stupid enough to write this.  
> Inspired by Episode 27 of FMA:B (yes the recap episode) when Hohenheim angsts and Trisha shows up to ruin the audience by being herself.

It is by the influence and grace of the Great Will that he has some discernment of time and logic even as a mere element of Truth. For some strange reason, he could not recall a moment when everything was not as vivid as it is now. He cannot—should not feel; he exists nowhere and yet lurks everywhere at the same time. He couldn’t explain his existence (if he even exists at all) because self-awareness is not a quality he was ever meant to possess. For some reason, he just does.

And yet… he’s grateful.

  _His lungs first breathed fresh air, heart thumping steadily within its cocoon, and the sun seared through his eyelids after he’d stared for too long. Pain, bliss, discomfort—little burdens like these never felt like burdens. He had the voice to weave words into sentences of gratitude and grief; he had tears to shed and a mouth to smile with; his tongue could taste bitterness, sweetness and even human emotion. He’d never felt so limited and limitless at the same time. But where was she? Where was anyone? He was a cage despite being mankind’s cage for all this time; he could have been as insignificant as any tiny, inconsequential human, and yet he was still the key._

“What are you thinking about?” she asks him, and he jolts out of his reverie. Suddenly the orange sky is more saturated than it’s supposed to be, and that’s him letting his guard down. _Contentment_ —he can never be content; he will not allow himself to retreat into the shell of complacency mankind takes comfort in ( _would that he could, and he so wished that were the case_ ).

He tears his eyes away from the pink puffs of clouds. Because she’s the fresh air he truly breathed for the first time, newer than the cold breeze that wafted over the bridge. His heart raced wildly for the first time; there was more excitement to be had with her than discovering that he was alive. She reminds him of the life he’s been given, and the death he can receive. She is the sun, the embodiment of all human emotion. At least, to Ryoji Mochizuki, she is. Perhaps she is more than that, and he cannot see past his admiration and need of her.

Ryoji smiles. “I was thinking this is the perfect setting for a love confession.” And it is. Love confessions signified beginnings, didn’t they? Like sunsets and cherry blossoms and fireworks and skinship and tears and hatred and strife and conception and agony and life and death—

She hums, soft, pink lips pursing as she smiles at him and keeps her laughter in check.

“Yeah, it kind of is. Hah…if Junpei were here.”

_Iori Junpei_. The name, in turn, brings a smile to Ryoji’s face. He idly taps the blue bench they’re both sitting on. The sun is setting; before long the sky will be purple and the school gates will close. Should they leave?

“Aigis would be very upset,” he mutters.

She nods in his periphery. “And Yukari, too.”

Ryoji laughs self-deprecatingly. The laugh is weak and sounds more like dry wheezing to him. He’s surprised he didn’t end up crying. “I’m surprised you’re even here with me. Go spend time with them.”

And he hears it in her voice: _”I would, but I can’t really do that anymore, can I?”_

He covers his face. “I gave you a _choice_.”

He remembers it clearly: _Raw power tearing, crawling and leaping out of his temporary container, overwhelming Ryoji and materializing as Thanatos. But she stared Death straight in the eye and said defiantly_ —foolishly— _“No.”_

_But in the end, when Ryoji’s body was gone and it was just Death and Arisato Minako, she crumbles to useless knees and all of Mochizuki Ryoji’s recognition of her as a singular being escapes. Suddenly she was the_ billions _who had yet to touch finality_. _The ring had been clutched tight in her warm hands._

None of this would have happened if it weren’t for The Appriser. 

“You know that’s not what I meant…” she nudges him lightly, and he’s taken his hands off his face, but he’s not looking at her.

“Aragaki Shinjiro.” He chances a glance at Minako’s reaction. She stares right back at the purple horizon. Her face is unreadable, and Death never felt so limited in his knowledge of humans. Nonetheless, Minako isn’t giving Thanatos the reaction he’d expected her to give. He hears Sandalphon’s voice in her.

“Shinjiro… what about him?”

Ryoji grips his scarf tightly. “You two remind me of each other.” He stares at his shoes.

“How so?” He’s thankful that she sounds very invested in what Ryoji has to say, but there’s something in that curious tone that causes him unease.

Ryoji feels like a child.

“Few humans stare me in the face. They may curse me, fear me and surrender, but people like you and Shinjiro.” Ryoji shivers. Oddly enough, two of these teenagers had the same look in their eyes as a couple of good, dedicated soldiers. Cheesy as it was, Shinjiro was more of a veteran than most humans; he was of the 0.0001 percent of humanity that tasted the truth of despair and the weight of responsibility. Arisato was no different. And forasmuch as Death had taken, if he weren’t a concept—if he had bones, they’d rattle every time he meets an individual with eyes like the 0.0001 percent. “Never mind.”

“Will he still live?”

Ryoji shakes his head. “I can’t tell you that.”

Minako breathes an indecipherable sigh. “I see. Okay.”

With that, Ryoji dives back into conversation. There are no thoughts with which he can linger on regret and happiness or any other human emotion. If there will be another time, then he might return. But this is where he belongs right now. He will do well to stay where he is. One day, he hopes that Minako will be gone—that she will be somewhere out of his reach until it is deemed appropriate for him to take her back… _properly_ , this time. He hopes. That is, if he is allowed to.

“Regrets… Did you have any?”

Minako smiles sweetly. “Hm?” She waves a hand at him. “Not really. I said my goodbyes. Shinjiro was sitting where you’re sitting right now.” Minako points at Ryoji’s spot on the bench.

Ryoji blinks. No wonder it was warm.

“Don’t you want to go back?”

Minako gives Ryoji another smile that will take him time to understand, but nonetheless makes him feel like a child, like he’s human. “Ryoji,” she says, and that is that. Ryoji will never ask the same question, and he will never know the answer.

_Someday…_

“It’s getting pretty cold,” he mutters, and begins to unwrap his scarf for Minako.

“Don’t be stupid,” she says, and grabs his hands. They’re very warm. She wraps it around Ryoji’s head, laughing all the while. “I don’t feel cold.”

“Right… you can’t…” Ryoji’s words are muffled by the scarf. It is unbearably hot inside the makeshift cocoon Minako made for his stupid, stupid head.

Before Ryoji is even aware, he feels Minako nudge him with her head to his own. She wraps her arm around him tightly, and shakes. “Hey,” he hears her whimper, “we’re okay. I’m not mad.” But Ryoji is pressing the cotton to his face, and his human body is racked with sobs and shuddering breaths. He snorts and sniffles as Minako ugly-cries along with him, laughing from time to time in order to placate them both somehow.

“You’ll be okay,” he tries to tell her even with the hiccups and the muffler.

“We’ll be okay!” she laughs.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Really, I just needed to get this out of my system. I might make an alternate fic featuring Minato, but that's for another time, I guess.


End file.
